


Shut Up

by TheBadIdeaBears



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Black Star in legwarmers, Black Star is not good at texting, Dance Off, Dance school AU, F/M, Love Confessions, Maka is hardworking, Songfic, Soul is a dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 13:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10788027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBadIdeaBears/pseuds/TheBadIdeaBears
Summary: Soul is the number one dancer at the DWMA, and he's not used to anyone trying to take that away from him. But who is this new girl and can she finally dethrone him? [Dance school AU]





	Shut Up

**Author's Note:**

> Written for New Year 2017 for Holly from Pandora. Songfic for 'Shut Up and Dance' by Walk the Moon.
> 
> (And yes, Black*Star would text in all caps.)

I heft the laundry bag onto my shoulder and push open the door to the laundry room. The cloying smell of washing powder drifting in the air invades my nose and I screw my face up, knowing that breathing through my mouth won't help get rid of the feeling. Seeing a free machine, I dump my bag beside it and start shoving my clothes inside. This late at night (or rather, early in the morning) there's no one else around; the only sound I hear is the buzz of the fluorescent lights on the ceiling and my own movements. With the machine stuffed full of my dance gear and underwear – yeah, I should have done this sooner, shut up smart me – I put some coins in the slot, add powder and hit the big round start button.

Letting out a sigh, I put one leg up on the wall to stretch it and pull out my phone. A message from Black*Star awaits me: 'SOUL DID YOU SEE THEY POSTED THE NEW RANKINGS TODAY?'

I raise an eyebrow and send a reply: 'How'd you do?''

A minute passes and I switch legs before Black*Star's next message pops onto my screen: 'WENT UP A PLACE, THANKS FOR HELPING ME WITH MY ROUTINE.'

I smile a little. 'No problem man.'

'YOU'RE NUMBER ONE AGAIN,' comes soon after and I half-laugh. Big surprise. I try not to sound smug – even in my head – as I think it but, really, who else would it be? I know I'm the best dancer in the DWMA. Everyone does.

Another message appears: 'I HEARD THAT GWEN WAS ASKING PEOPLE IF YOU'D FOUND A PARTNER FOR NATIONALS YET.'

I scoff but immediately feel guilty. I know I shouldn't be mean about Gwen, but she doesn't pick up choreography fast enough and her turnout is pretty poor. I try to compose a diplomatic reply (this place is a haven for gossip and Black*Star has a bad habit of blurting things out to the wrong people): 'I don't think we're quite the right fit for Nationals.'

It's true: I don't have the patience to choreograph with her and I already have a lot to do anyway. I do my best to suppress the sour feeling in my stomach – I can't keep putting off choosing a professional partner but there's always something _off_ about every possibility, or they already have a partner. Tsubaki is a great dancer, but ever since she and Black*Star paired up for a random exercise in Ballroom last year, they've been entering competitions together – and doing well. They fit together perfectly – I could never inspire the same from her. Even Death the Kid – who flits between Liz and Patty and holds the national title for contemporary trio dances – is closer to finding his professional partner than me.

I come out of my stretch and flop onto a bench, sighing. _Maybe I should consider Gwen_ , I think. _We could do some reasonable lifts...?_ I'm still cringing at the thought of the basic footwork we'd have to do when I hear the door to the laundry room open.

_Who the hell is doing laundry at this time? … Apart from me?_

I look up and see the daintiest girl I have ever seen come in. She's balancing a large washing basket on her hip and is wearing a large red pair of headphones atop her head. Her ash-blonde hair hangs a little past her shoulders and her eyes are cast downwards. She seems deep in thought – or possibly just really into her music – and she doesn't see me in my corner. Instead I watch her: she turns away from me to load a machine and I admire the little dips and slopes of her back through the criss-cross fabric of the back of her dress. Her skin looks smooth and pale alongside the dress' periwinkle blue and part of me longs to be close enough to reach out and touch it. Her washing machine rumbles to life and the rushing sound of water filling it up joins the swooshing sound mine is making. I watch her begin to gently sway, apparently in time to her music, and then lift her arms above her head. She begins to dance and I feel my heart set ablaze.

Her movements are fluid and lyrical, her head bobs whimsical to the beat of nothing at all and I can almost hear the music. I stand up slowly – her back is still to me and I know she can't see or hear me, but I want to know who she is, hear her voice, learn the colour of her eyes. Is she a student here? I've never seen her before, even though we must be the same age... My thoughts are interrupted when she goes into a quickstep, her comfy-looking, battered tennis shoes squeaking on the lino floor, and I feel my stomach flutter to the same tempo. The combination of the step sequence with the hip-hop-esque arm movements is like nothing I've ever seen before, and yet nothing seems calculated. She dances effortlessly, lighter than air...

She turns, her spine undulating as she pushes one shoulder back, and her eyes meet mine: deep green pools that widen suddenly. She stops dead, mouth slightly open and arms still in the air. A flush creeps into her cheeks as she drops her hands and I'm so taken aback by her that I can't say anything before she stammers out a “Sorry!” and crashes out of the door.

 

***

 

“So you never even got her name?” asks Tsubaki before class next morning.

I shake my head. “Didn't really get time before she ran away and then she didn't come back.”

Tsubaki sinks into a box split and Black*Star adjusts his legwarmers before asking, “Is she a student here?”

“Well I don't know,” I say, “Like I said I only saw her in the launderette. I feel like she can't be though – I'd remember her.”

“We could keep an eye out for her?” suggests Tsubaki from the floor. “Maybe she's in another class?”

I nod. “Thanks – I just... I don't know, I just really want to find out who she is, you know?”

Tsubaki smiles and looks like she might say something, but then the classroom door opens and Professor Stein walks in accompanied by Miss Marie and – I blink, sure I must be dreaming – the girl from the launderette. She's dressed in dance gear and her hair is in bunches – is she here for class? My mouth goes dry and my heart gives a hopeful thump.

“Good morning class,” Stein greets us. “I trust you're all sufficiently stretched. Please take your places at the barre and start warming up.”

We take off our extra layers in preparation for the class and I watch Stein say something to the girl, to which she nods before moving into one corner of the room and beginning to stretch.

“Hey Soul!” Black*Star hisses, grinning at me while he rolls off his legwarmers. “Is that her?”

I nod, knowing my face is slack with surprise and Tsubaki casts an appraising eye over my shoulder.

“She's pretty,” she says. “And you said she dances well?”

I nod again. “Like no one else I've ever seen.”

Stein claps his hands and we dash to the barre. As the piano music starts, I throw a glance over my shoulder to where the girl is stretching. She finishes and shrugs off her hoodie, eyeing the barre for space. Her eyes meet mine and I feel myself turn the same shade of pink as her. When she looks at me again I try for a smile and she nervously returns it before scurrying next to Ox at the barre. I feel a tap to my shoulder and jump, facing forward again to see Stein glaring at me.

“Are you impersonating an owl, Evans?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No sir, sorry sir.”

“Face front Evans. You can flirt with Miss Albarn later,” he says sternly. My face burns with the sound of giggles around me and I put my effort into focusing on the class. Albarn... Her name sounds familiar, but I can't put my finger on it. The name rolls around in my head for the rest of the barre exercises and for the first group routine.

“The next part requires you to have a partner,” says Stein while we and chug from our water bottles. “Please get into pairs and take a place in the room.”

I glance around. Usually I just pair up with whoever is free but today I know exactly who I want to dance with. I dodge around Liz and approach the girl – Miss Albarn.

“Hi,” I say, trying to remind myself that I'm the best dancer here to steady my voice. “Would you dance with me?”

She smiles, the expression bringing warmth to her eyes. “Sure.”

We find a space at the back of the room and the music starts. We follow Stein's instruction, copying his and Miss Marie's movements to learn the dance. We pick it up quickly – I knew we would – but others have trouble with it. While we're watching Stein go through the steps slowly, I turn to Miss Albarn.

“I'm Soul by the way,” I say, “Soul Evans.”

She looks relieved. “Thanks, it's hard to learn names when you're dancing,” she chuckles. “I'm Maka.”

“Did Stein say your surname is Albarn?” I ask.

Her smile sets to a grimace. “Yeah.”

“Are you any relation to Spirit Albarn?” I'm trying not to sound too eager.

“Yeah, he's my father,” she replies and my jaw drops.

“Spirit Albarn is your dad?!” I ask incredulously.

She frowns a little and says, “Yeah. He's on a tour right now and since he's good friends with Headmaster Reaper he enrolled me here so I could keep on top of my dance training while he's away.”

“So dancing is in your blood then?” I ask.

She pauses for a second and then says, “You could say that I guess.”

“That must be so cool!” I enthuse. “He's the guy who inspired me to dance!”

She smiles and nods. “That's great.”

“Evans!” I look up at the sound of my name to see Stein gesturing to me from the front of the room. “Please come with Miss Albarn to the front to demonstrate this sequence for everyone.”

I exchange a glance with Maka – her eyes are bright an excited – and offer her my arm. We step into the middle of the room and the music starts: a gentle but insistent beat that I let flow through my body as I start to dance with Maka. With no one else in the room dancing with us and all eyes following us, I feel an intensity to the dance that wasn't there before. She moves easily in my arms, holding herself strong and her limbs making beautiful lines in the air. She takes my breath away but all too soon the dance is over. I return Maka to her feet and Stein nods.

“Very nice,” he comments. “Did you all note how Mr Evans was using his shoulders and Miss Albarn's nice hand shapes?”

 

***

 

In every class I have with Maka after that, I pair up with her as often as I can. Dancing with her is completely different from dancing with anyone else – she keeps up with me and I feel completely in sync with her when she move. She and Tsubaki quickly become friends and she starts hanging out with us.

One afternoon, while I'm walking with Maka to Tap class, she nods to a large gaggle of students clustered around one of the noticeboards.

“What's going on there?” she asks.

“They post the rankings of every student in the school each week,” I explain. “I expect you'll have done quite well. We can take a look if you like – I don't normally bother.”

As we approach the crowd, Kim and Jackie emerge from it and wave.

“Well done Maka!” says Kim, beaming at her, and I feel a small swell of pride.

Jackie eyes me, a strange grin on her face, and I ask, “What?”

“Nothing,” she says sweetly, apparently amused. “You might need to sit down soon though.”

“Why?” I frown at her.

“No reason,” Kim and Jackie say in unison before sauntering away. Maka and I stare after them and then nudge our way through the crowd to have a look at the noticeboard...

 

2\. Soul Evans

 

My stomach drops. Second. How could I place _second_?! Second is the first to lose! Soul Evans does not place second!

 

1\. Maka Albarn

 

Something twists inside me and I glare at the ranking list. My fist clenches. Beside me, Maka turns her gaze on my face.

“Looks like I did pretty well,” she says breathlessly. A smile plays about her lips as I look at her but quickly fades when she takes in the expression on my face. She stands there, mouth open, before asking, “Are you okay?”

I nod jerkily. “Yeah. Sure. Well done.”

She pauses. “Really?”

“Yeah, totally.” I don't even sound convincing to myself. I step away from the noticeboard and start down the corridor. After a short pause Maka catches up to me.

“Soul–” she begins, but I stop in my tracks.

“Don't,” I say through my teeth. “Don't say anything.”

“But–”

“Those rankings are wrong.”

Maka's jaw drops. “Huh?”

“They must be wrong,” I growl. “I've never been anything lower than number one since my second semester here.”

Maka's brows slowly furrow over her eyes and she gapes at me in confusion. “I'm sorry – is that supposed to mean that no one else is ever going to surpass you?”

“I'm the best dancer at this school!” I say. “Of course no one else is ever going to surpass me!”

“But I did!” says Maka. “So what does that tell you?”

“That your dad's fame and money is enough to get you a leg up.”

The words leave me before I really know that I've said them. A moment of silence passes between us but before I can say anything Maka starts to shake. Tears swim in her eyes and roll down her cheeks as she fixes me with a furious stare.

“How... how could...” she sputters, voice breaking. She looks like she wants to say more but can't bring herself to: she turns tail and sprints away from me, past the gang around the noticeboard, and out of sight. The various students in the corridor turn to look at me and my face burns under their collective gaze. I feel a pull in my stomach but when I glance at the rankings on the noticeboard again it hardens into anger.

_She's been here a week – how could she have got past me so fast without some kind of bribery?_

 

***

 

I don't see Maka for the rest of the day. In Ballroom the following morning she blanks me entirely, dancing instead with Harvar, and I have to pair up with Gwen. The slow pace frustrates me and I feel a traitorous desire to dance with Maka... until I remember the ranks, her name above mine, and my jaw sets. If she's going to raise the bar with Daddy's money, I'll rise to meet it. I relish the challenge: this place was getting boring.

For the rest of the week I throw myself into my classes. I train longer, push my body harder, book out practice rooms at the weekend to get extra time in – by the time I flop into bed each night I fall asleep instantly, exhausted but content. They can't keep me from my rightful place on the rankings with all this extra work I'm putting in. If Maka's putting in even half the effort I am it's not obvious – sure, she's already a decent dancer, but I never see her doing any extra practices in the rooms. I rarely see her at all – from what I can tell she's avoiding me. Probably because she's embarrassed at being called out on things.

But then the rankings go up again the following week and I have to stop myself from punching the wall. How can she _still_ be at the top?! It doesn't make sense! I pushed myself so hard all week! I step away from the noticeboard and start to walk away down the corridor. I hear people muttering to one another and then giggles as I walk away, and the sound hardens my resolve. Clearly I need to keep working harder.

I book practice rooms for the rest of the week at the office, filling out the timetables with my name and breathing a sigh of relief that barely anyone else has done the same and I pretty much have my pick of the rooms. Just as I'm turning to leave, Maka walks in the door. When she sees me her face colours but she nods.

“Hi,” she says. She's pouting a little, her lips pushed forward, and I can't help staring at them for a few seconds before I can form a response.

“Hey...” I heft the strap of my bag on my shoulder and clear my throat.

“Did you book some practice rooms out?” she asks. Her eyes won't stay on my face and roam around the office.

I nod. “Yeah. Don't worry, I didn't take them all – you'll need the practice if you want to beat me on your own merits.”

Without looking at her, I side-step her to allow access to the sign-up book and leave the office.

_I will crush you._

 

***

 

With another week of near-constant dancing, I start buying plasters and bandages in bulk. The blisters and callouses on my feet burst and harden respectively, the skin rubbed raw from my dance shoes, breaking open and bleeding. I start waking up to aches in my shoulders and thighs, an insatiable appetite and an unrelenting drive. When I'm not sleeping, eating or otherwise engaged, I am dancing. I have to get back my place on the rankings. There is no compromise on this.

As I'm leaving one of the practice rooms one evening I turn off the light and plunge the corridor into near-darkness, only broken by the light coming out from under the door of another practice room down the corridor. Typical, people always forget to turn the lights off at the end of the night. I walk down the corridor to the room and push open the door, but the sight inside makes me pause before I can turn off the light.

Maka dances in the middle of the room, music playing from the speakers in the corner. She's facing away from me, checking her form in the mirror on the opposite wall. Her routine seems to be to some kind of lyrical ballet piece, but the piece she's dancing it to – a heavy piece with a strong bass line and a smattering of guitars along with a high female voice – is entirely unsuited to it. I fight the urge to scoff and instead watch her move to the insistent beat from the bass. She raises her hands in the air and her eyes meet mine in the mirror. A glare for me passes across her face but she continues to dance, going into a pirouette sequence. Suddenly I see what she's doing: instead of dancing inside the music and inhabiting it, she exists above and around it, skimming on the beat and the music exists inside her instead. The music almost seems to follow her movements instead of her following it, like she's guiding it to do what she wants. I watch her wordlessly, feeling my face slacken as the dance continues until finally the music stops and Maka lies on the floor on her back, arms out to her sides and breath coming hard. She says nothing as she lets out one last breath and rolls onto her hands and knees before getting up. She takes her music from the boom box and turns it off before grabbing her bag and shoving her bare feet into her shoes. Eventually, her eyes meet mine and she raises an eyebrow.

“Still think that top spot is rightfully yours?” she asks as she approaches me, arms folded and challenge in the set of her lips.

I swallow. “Of course,” I say. What else _can_ I say? Inside, my heart is pounding.

Maka squeezes past me through the doorway and I'm glad to not be aware of how close she is. She walks away down the corridor and calls back, “Don't forget to turn the light off in there.”

I turn it off and stare into the darkness. _Shit_.

 

***

 

When I get to Contemporary the next day Black*Star sidles up to me.

“Hey stranger!” he greets me.

I grimace a little. I know I've been neglecting seeing him – and everyone else – for the last couple of weeks because I've been constantly training, and I know I probably shouldn't have.

“Hi,” I say, dumping my bag in the corner and pulling off my hoodie. “Sorry for being kinda AWOL lately.”

“Yeah you suck,” says Black*Star, sticking out his tongue. “Did you check the rankings this morning?”

“Not yet,” I say, jaw setting.

“Oh...” Black*Star looks over to the other corner of the room. I follow his gaze to see Maka stretching with Tsubaki, deep in conversation. Black*Star turns back to me. “Sorry buddy.”

“Ugh, really?” I groan. “But I worked my butt off all week!”

“Yeah...” Black*Star glances over into the corner again. “I guess she must just be that good.”

I think back to the previous night, when I watched Maka practising her dancing, and my stomach sours. “How? She's been here less than a month.”

Black*Star shrugs. “I don't know what to say to you, dude.”

I shake my head and sink to the floor, reaching into my bag to grab bandages. As I'm taping my toes and pulling on my socks and shoes, I hear Black*Star jokingly say something to Kid about someone in a younger year challenging him to a dance-off. Kid responds predictably sardonically and Black*Star laughs, but inside me a light-bulb flashes.

I get up, one hand still holding my tape and the other holding my other shoe, and make my way over to the opposite corner of the room where Maka and Tsubaki are both sitting in box splits. They look up as I approach and Tsubaki offers me a smile while Maka looks blank.

“Hey Soul,” says Tsubaki, sitting up a little straighter to look at me properly and moving to sit cross-legged. “How are you?”

“I'm fine,” I say. “Maka, I've got a proposition for you.”

A look of confusion passes across her face but smooths out quickly. “Right,” she says. “What would that be?”

“A dance-off,” I say.

Maka raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?” she asks. Her tone makes me frown.

“Scared you'll lose?” I ask.

“Not at all.” Maka exchanges a look with Tsubaki before returning her gaze to my face. “I just don't get it – what are you trying to prove?”

“That I'm the superior dancer!” I say. “That the teachers have got it wrong and I should be at the top of the rankings.”

Maka rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she says. “When?”

“After classes today,” I say. “In the auditorium.”

“Fine,” she says. “See you there.”

 

***

 

At the end of class I hang back – the class opened up some of the sores on my feet and taking the tape off hurts. I pull some off my little toe and wince, gasping quietly, and a shadow falls over me. I look up and see Sid looking down at me. Having finished teaching, he's tidying the room and I realise I must be in the way.

“Sorry,” I say, shuffling to the side slightly. “Just needed to sort out my feet.”

“Don't worry about it,” says Sid. “I can clean after you're gone. I wanted to have a quick talk with you.”

“Oh...” I feel a wave of nerves roll over me. _Is this some kind of punishment for falling down the rankings?_

“I'm aware you're not very happy at having gone down the rankings,” he says. “But it's given you an exceptional drive. I've never seen you try this hard before to get that top spot.”

I'm not sure what to say to him. “Uhh, thanks?”

“Just don't push yourself too hard,” he says. “I know the number one position is a tantalising prospect, but it's only a number. There's such a thing as over-rehearsing and you could hurt yourself if you're not careful.”

Again, I have no idea what to say in response. I opt for a nod and stand, picking up my bag.

“Just bear it in mind,” says Sid. “You and Maka dance together beautifully. It would be advisable for you both to bury the hatchet.”

I nod again. “I'll think about it.”

 

***

 

The rest of the day passes slowly and when my last class lets out I head to my dorm to grab my street dance shoes and then head down to the auditorium. On my instruction, Black*Star got word out about the dance-off to as many people as possible, and when I arrive there is a sizeable crowd gathered in the seats. Black*Star stands on the stage and waves to me when he sees me enter.

“Soul!” he calls. “Get up here!”

I climb the steps onto the stage and go over to him. “Any sign of Maka?” I ask.

“Not yet,” says Black*Star.

“She's probably chickened out,” I say. “She doesn't want me to show her up and prove to everyone that her place on the rankings was bought for her.”

Black*Star looks at the clock on the wall. “Give her a few minutes, she might still show up.”

“Doesn't matter either way,” I say. “I'll still win.”

An image from last night – Maka pirouetting across the practice room, form perfect and eyes ablaze – darts through my mind and I shake my head to dispel it. I sit on the edge of the stage to change my shoes, cringing at the feeling of my shoes rubbing at my blisters. I tie my shoes and flex my feet, pointing them to get comfortable in the shoes. Standing, I look at Black*Star again.

“Still no sign,” I say.

“It's been two minutes dude,” he says. “Give her a chance.”

“Says you,” I say. “You're the least patient person I know.”

Before he can say anything in response the doors to the auditorium open and Tsubaki walks in, accompanied by Maka. In silence, they make their way to the stage and climb on it. The chatter from the gathered students quietens and Maka fixes me with a stare.

“Shall we get started?” she asks impatiently. She looks bored and stands with her weight on one hip, the other leg bent slightly. I grin.

“I understand,” I say. “I'm sure you want to go ahead and get the embarrassment over with.”

She rolls her eyes. “You can keep telling yourself that if you want.”

My grin widens. “I won't have to soon.”

She looks like she might be about to say something, but then Black*Star pops up between us and says, “Music's set up, we're ready for you.”

 

***

 

The music ends and I collapse onto my knees on the stage. I've won. I know I've won. From the reaction of the crowd to Maka's frustrated groan as she drops her stance and grabs her water bottle, I can tell. We're both panting hard and I reach for my water bottle too. I drink some and feel it going down my throat, letting the feeling cool me as I catch my breath. When I cast a glance over at Maka she's doubled over, hands clasped around one of her knees.

_On cool-down already, huh? Must have been anticipating this._

I stand and Black*Star grabs my wrist and lifts it, calling to the crowd, “The winner is Soul!”

The gathered crowd cheers and claps and I feel a grin come to my face. Yes. _This_ is where I'm meant to be. _I_ am the DWMA's best dancer. No one comes close to my abilities, my skills. A tingling rush comes over me, a combination of the exhilaration from the dance-off and the response from the other students. I throw a look over to Maka, thinking maybe I'll offer her a consolatory handshake, but she's already down the stage steps and walking out of the auditorium. She doesn't looks back and I watch her open the door and walk out, letting it slam behind her. A twinge comes to my chest but then Black*Star suggests getting a victory milkshake in the city and I shrug it off. Let her be angry if she wants to be. I won't let her spoil my victory.

 

***

 

For the next few days, I bask in the victory over Maka. The dance-off is the talk of the school: in classes and corridors other students stop me and tell me how awesome it was, and my phone buzzes constantly with notifications saying the same. A grin remains on my face everywhere I go and I feel a bounce of joy in my tummy that gives me a spring in my step. I don't see much of Maka around the school. Most of the time, I don't think about her, but when I do I feel a weird sense of... absence? Or... maybe wistfulness? Nah, can't be. I don't care about her. She's not important to me. She's just a girl in my school. Who I beat in a dance-off. That's all. Whatever.

At lunch a few days later, however, things change.

Black*Star, Kid, Tsubaki, Liz, Patty and I find a spot in the cafeteria and sit down. By this point, people have largely moved on from the dance-off and there are minimal congratulations. I cast a cursory glance around the cafeteria and don't see Maka anywhere.

“Hey, Black*Star?” I nudge him. “Does Maka even still go here?”

Black*Star looks around the room too. “I dunno dude,” he says. “I think I saw her the other day heading to Latin but I haven't seen much of her.”

“Huh,” I say, “weird. I mean, I know I beat her in the dance-off but she doesn't have to hide herself from everyone.”

“Why are you so concerned?” asks Black*Star.

“Concerned? Who says I'm concerned?” The word feels prickly and I shrink away from it.

“No one,” says Black*Star. “You just seem kind of concerned.”

“I'm not,” I insist. “I'm just... curious.”

I turn my attention to my lunch – a bowl of mac and cheese – but before I can take a bite I feel someone watching me and put down my fork. I look down the table and see Patty peering at me with an odd expression on her face.

“Err... Patty are you okay?” I ask.

She tilts her head to one side. “Yes,” she says. “Just I heard you ask about Maka.”

I frown. “What does it matter?”

She shrugs. “I just thought you might like to know she hasn't left. She's been in the library a lot though.”

There is a small movement as both Tsubaki and Liz look up and cast weird glances at each other and Patty, who continues smiling at me. I raise a quizzical eyebrow.

“Why is she in the library?” I ask.

Tsubaki and Liz both look wide-eyed at Patty, who says, “Well she has to rest her knee right?”

As Tsubaki and Liz look like they're kicking Patty under the table I feel as though I've been whacked on the back of my head.

“ _What_?” My voice comes out icy.

“Nothing!” say Tsubaki and Liz in unison.

Patty – apparently now realising that she _wasn't_ meant to have told me this – looks sheepish and says, “Don't know what you mean...”

I stand up. “Is she in the library now?”

Patty flushes. “I... don't know?”

“...”

“...”

“... I'm going to the library,” I say.

“Soul wait!” says Tsubaki as I pull my chair out.

“So she is in the library then?” I say. I grab my bag and throw it on my shoulder. “I'll be back in a bit.”

Turning and walking away, I hear further protests and Liz chastising Patty, and then the door shuts behind me and I find myself running through the school, trying to get to the library as quickly as I can. Eventually I crash through the doors, earning a glare from the Librarian. Panting, I look around and start wandering through the stacks. The place is mostly empty – most students are in the cafeteria or grounds right now – but eventually I see Maka in one of the window benches, one leg stretched out along the bench with ice sitting on her knee. She's reading a book and doesn't look up until I stomp over to her. She looks up and her eyes meet mine.

“Soul,” she says by way of greeting.

“Don't 'Soul' me!” I say. “When were you planning on telling me you did the dance-off on a dodgy knee?”

“Umm, never?” she says.

“ _What_?!”

“Sssshhh!”

Glancing over my shoulder I see the Librarian peeking out from behind a shelf with his finger to his lips. I throw him an over-exaggerated thumbs-up and he vanishes again. I turn back to Maka and say, much more quietly, “So you did the dance-off on a busted knee?”

She closes her book, one finger stuck between the pages to keep her place. “Yes.”

“Why?”

She sighs. “If you recall, you didn't give me much of a chance to say no.”

“Oh so you're going to blame all this on me?” I ask, glaring at her.

“What do you even care if I did do the dance-off on a torn ligament?” she asks. “You won and that's all that mattered, right?”

“Because I didn't really beat you!” I'm trying desperately not to let my voice raise and instead it comes out almost hoarse. “If you couldn't bring the best you had, then I can't really say I beat you!”

“I still don't get why the dance-off was so important to you anyway.”

“Because the dance-off was different to the rankings!” I say. “In the dance-off I knew it was just skill versus skill, not skill versus money!”

She slams the book down on the bench and stands, the ice pack landing on the floor. Nose-to-nose with me, she practically growls, “Don't you _dare_ attribute my successes to my father!” The ferocity of her tone makes me take a step back – she follows. “I have spent my _entire life_ trying to step out of his shadow! Do you know how frustrating it is to constantly hear 'Oh hey you're a great dancer, your dad must be such an amazing teacher!' or 'You can really see her father in her dancing!'? I'm not an extension of my dad – I'm sick of people never letting me be a good dancer on my own merits.”

I say nothing. Even I can tell that I shouldn't say anything right now. There's a sensation making itself known in my stomach that I only vaguely recognise. Maka steps back a little, hands still clasped into fists but some of the tension out of her shoulders, and sighs.

“I was so excited to come here,” she says. “My dad tutored me all my life and I couldn't wait to learn to dance from other teachers and hang out with kids my own age. I was so looking forward to meeting new people and when I got here I was really happy – that's why I was dancing in the launderette.”

I think back to that night – the sound of the washing machines not quite keeping time with Maka's dancing, the flickering light of the fluorescent bulbs on her blushing face, my curiosity about who she was...

“And then,” she continues, “in my first class, I met you – properly I mean – and when we danced together I thought, 'Yes! This is amazing!' because we danced well together and I'd never felt that kind of connection with someone else before!” She steps back again and sinks back onto the bench again, looking up at me. “But... I guess not.” She looks sad, disappointed, and I finally find my words.

“I'm sorry...” My voice comes out as a whisper and I clear my throat before repeating, “I'm sorry. I... didn't think about it like that.”

Maka half-smiles and says, “Look, I get it. You're not used to not being top dog. It's got to be weird and unsettling to have some random just waltz in here and take that away from you.”

“Yeah but I was a dick,” I say. “It was unnecessary and I just want to apologise.”

“Apology accepted,” she says almost immediately.

I laugh. “Truth is, I think there's more to it on my side too,” I say. She looks puzzled so I continue, “I've never met anyone like you, never in my life. When I saw you in the laundry room I thought to myself, 'I need to know this girl. I need to dance with her.' and I was excited to dance with you too. It was like the first time I'd ever danced – I felt like we were meant to dance together. It felt... right, you know?”

Maka nods and smiles. “I thought so.”

“And then I got... weird and annoyed and stuff... And now I realise I was thinking about you a lot,” I add, my voice starting to shake a little. “Like... really, a lot.” A glance at Maka shows that she's blushing a little and I feel slightly braver. “So... Look, I'm just going to say it, I think I like you. I don't know what that means – if it means anything – but could we maybe start over? You're the dancing girl in the launderette and I'm the guy who had to wash his underwear at 2am because I'm kind of a disaster?”

She laughs, the sound making my heart light with relief, and stands up again. “Sure.”

I hold out a hand for her to shake but she steps up to me and pulls me into a hug, leaving a kiss on my cheek. I put my arms around her and hold her close.

“Thank you,” she whispers into my ear.

 

***

 

Black*Star's birthday celebrations take us into the city, to our usual haunt: a place called Chupa-Cabra's which has a dancefloor and a jukebox. Blair behind the bar greets us and waves us through to a booth in one corner. I squeeze in next to Maka and grin at her.

“Having fun?” I ask.

She smiles. “I am.”

Just as I'm about to say something else, the music changes and everyone raises their heads.

“Tuuuuuuune!” cries Black*Star, immediately bouncing out of the booth and onto the dancefloor, the disco lights bouncing colours off his blue hair as Tsubaki joins him. Kid, Liz and Patty all look at one another and shrug, getting up to dance as well. I get to my feet and hold out my hand to Maka.

“You coming?” I ask. She laughs and takes my arm, almost dragging me to the dancefloor.

I lose myself in the joy of the moment, the rhythm of the music and Maka – her beautiful green eyes are alight as we move together. I lean in close to her, my lips by her ear.

“Is your knee okay?” I ask.

She laughs. “Are you seriously worried about that right now?” she asks.

“I was just checking!”

She laughs more, putting her arms around my neck and pulling me closer to speak in my ear:

“Shut up and dance with me.”

 


End file.
